We spend the nextquarter hour trying to get the radio working, but the signal is tied to the skimmer, and one can’t work without the other. Unless another Legion ship were to pass within range and accidentally connect to our system, the radio will remain useless.
Needless to say, the skies remain firmly empty.
“Temperatures will plummet after dark,” Lament says. He’s got his hands on his hips, eyes narrowed as he assesses the spacecraft. “Our best option is to get this thing repaired before then. Otherwise, we’ll have to sleep in it.”
Funny, how quickly he’s flipped fromYou’re not my partnertoLookee at this problem we share.I’m tempted to make a scathing comment, but instead I merely say, “Vera will have noticed we’re missing by then.”
“Even if she does, we can’t leave a spacecraft behind.”
“We could ask the Legion to retrieve it.”
He shoots me a flat look. “We’re not asking the Legion for anything.”
I mimic his posture, giving the craft a once-over. It’s a fairly standard model, about as small as they come, painted in silver and red with quad wings and a single hyper-engine at the back. There are two interior seats—a pilot’s and a gunner’s—but they’re tiny, smushed together.Not an ideal sleeping arrangement and, frankly, not one I’m sure we’d survive.
Purvuva orbits a single sun, meaning there’s a clear day and night, but we’re high enough in the northern hemisphere that evening seems to stretch on indefinitely. Lament crawls under the spacecraft and begins fiddling with the wiring while I draw pictures in the sand with my toe. “What are you doing under there?”
“Looking for lost kittens.”
I sketch Lament’s face in the earth, giving him evil eyes and spikes for hair. “How’d you learn to repair a spacecraft?”
“How does anyone learn anything?”
I erase the hair and add horns instead. “It’s just, I thought this is why Starfield Fleets emphasize specialization. The Sixth has Toph for a mechanic. He knows about repairing spacecrafts, and you know about flying, and I know about shooting shit. That’s how we become the best, right? By focusing on a single skill set.”
“Yes.” He’s lying on his back in the sand, hands up in the craft’s guts. “And where is Toph now?”
Asleep at the detachment, probably. I could point out that Tophwouldbe here if Lament hadn’t run off without the rest of his fleet, but I figure we have enough arguments brewing between us without me actively trying to invent more.
“You should learn,” Lament says absently.
“Learn what?”
“How to repair a spacecraft.”
“In case I’m stuck with a partner who wants to stuff me in a trunk kidnapper-style and I need to jet myself off a planet wasteland?”
I can’t be sure, but I think his mouth twitches.
I go back to drawing in the sand while surreptitiously watching Lament. He’s got his bottom lip pulled between his teeth, his shoulders straining under his shirt as he works. He hasn’t bothered to roll up his sleeves, so they’re getting streaked with grease, and he’s sweating a little,his pale hair sticking to his face. I add that to my sketch, scrubbing out the horns and drawing soft strands that fall over his forehead.
“I liked the horns better,” he says.
“How can you even see what I’m doing from under there?”
A shrug.
I scrub a line through the picture and move closer to Lament, crouching for a better view. He’s rummaging through a tangle of wires in a way that makes me want to ask,Are you sure you know what you’re doing?But, in the spirit of not killing each other, I say, “Why aren’t you ever in the news?”
I’ve surprised him. His brows dip, hands slowing. It takes him a moment to answer. “The media idolizes Starfield Fleets. I’m sure you’ve seen how often they cover us—other fleets, yes, but the Sixth especially. Our missions are often high profile and our members are highly skilled, and that makes for interesting stories… and higher viewership. But I don’t think fleets should be treated like celebrities. It distorts our purpose. Plus, operations are harder if everyone knows who you are and what you look like.”
“True,” I agree, “but it’s not like you can stop the media from airing stories about you.”
Lament wipes his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Unless you offer them something better.”
“Mr. Bringer.” I arch a brow. “Have you beenbribingour fair and trusted public news establishments?”
“I give them insider tips in exchange for anonymity.”
